Separation
by sweetaslemons
Summary: Set in Deathly Hallows, when Ron leaves Harry and Hermione. First person, present tense, Ron point of view. Rated for language.


**Hey guys! I feel like I've been gone foreverrrrrrr. I started writing again. This is a one shot. It's set in Deathly Hallows, when Ron leaves. It's from his PoV.**

--

Anger courses through my veins, almost sinking directly into my muscles, taking me over, controlling me. I don't need a bloody horcrux with evil itself living in it; I'm perfectly capable of feeling that biting, tearing, insufferable rage in the pit of my stomach without it. Not just annoyance or irritation, but full blown, incapacitating _fury_. The kind that makes you feel like you are going to explode, the kind that makes you shake, the kind that makes you want to jump up and attack. Maybe the horcrux was an influence. But I don't need that to get me riled up. You would be pissed off, too, if you spent endless days and weeks travelling up and down the wet and rainy countryside, eating stuff you can hardly call food, searching endlessly for an answer that doesn't even exist. This is not what we signed up for, me and Hermione. I thought she was on my side. Obviously not.

I drag my feet through the fallen leaves, rainwater soaking my trainers and jeans, making goosebumbs jump up on my arms. I shiver and pull my clothes tighter around me. I've taken that bloody necklace off, but I still feel cold and empty and depressed. The anger has been swallowed by the bitter sadness and shame. Shame is growing, making me almost incapable of movement. I stop and wrap my arms around myself to stifle it. I squeeze my eyes shut while they prickle. Taking a deep breath, I carry on moving and try to find shelter so I can sort out my thoughts.

I nestle myself against a cold but thankfully fairly dry tree trunk. Grief sweeps over me as I realise just what I have done. How could I have been so _stupid?_ Yes, we seemed to be wandering aimlessly, slowly adding more and more unattainable objects to our list. Yes, it was annoying and tiresome having to apparate all over the country and eat food that could hardly be classed as edible. It didn't look like we'd be getting anywhere soon. But I hadn't ignored Hermione shouting my name. Her voice had faded pretty soon after I'd stormed off. I couldn't stop myself wondering; had she stopped calling, accepted I'd gone and got on with it, or had her cried only faded because of the protective spells? I can't help hoping for the latter. I tell myself it was because that would mean their spells work.

How could I leave Hermione like that? There's no denying it anymore; I'm in love with her. She's all I want, and all I can ever see myself wanting. I want to run back to her, put my arms around her, make her feel better. I feel such a coward. I want nothing more than to go back to the tent, but I'm scared. What will I find there? Will she be a mess, like I am? Will she have picked up and carried on? Will she and Harry have found "comfort" in each other? Would I go back there and see him in my place; Hermione crying on Harry's shoulder; Harry with his arm around Hermione; Harry's mouth on Hermione's? The thought makes my heart freeze. But what if she was upset? Her voice, breaking and shattering over my name, haunts me. I imagine her face, distressed and distraught, her hair wild and tangled in a halo around her. I fight the urge to be sick.

I have to go back. I can't just stay under this tree, feeling sorry for myself. I have to look for them. I'll take whatever is in that tent standing up. She can shout and rage at me, he can try to curse me and swear at me, and I'll just accept it. But I have to make sure Hermione is okay. She has to know I love her, that, although this "adventure" is tiresome, it is all worth it because of all the time I spend with her. She needs to know how sorry I am.

I get up and take another deep breath. I tell myself that this is what needs to be done. I can't help shaking a little with nerves. Calling Hermione's name I stumble through the trees, every so often getting spattered with rain. I walk. I walk. I walk a little more. I walk and walk and walk until I feel like my legs will collapse and I am shuddering violently from the cold.

--

I wake up the next morning shivering and frozen. I need to decide what to do. What _is_ there to do? I can't go back to the Burrow; can't face everyone's disappointment and disgust at my cowardly behaviour. They'll hate me almost as much as I hate myself.

I'll have to find them myself. I'll apparate around the country, looking for them for as long as I can...it would be impossible. But I'd do it.

I take a deep breath and turn on the spot, hoping that, by some miracle, I'll run into Harry and Hermione.

--

There is only so long you can apparate all over the country looking for an untraceable tent. There are only so many times you can almost freeze to death. There are only so many forests I know anyway. I am exhausted, I have nowhere _left_.

What the hell have I gotten myself into? I can't carry on like this; sleeping in or under trees with just a coat to keep me warm. My clothes are rank and smelling.

There is only one place I can go to. I'll have to go to Bill. He'll be fuming, of course but where else is there? I obviously can't stay here, out in the open, an easy target.

"I am _not _going to run into bloody Voldemort," I whisper to myself, flinching even at the hushed and barely audible name.

A flash of light, a bang, and a sharp throbbing in the right side of my head. I grunt in pain as I struggle against some kind of black force I can't break free of. My head reels as I try to make sense of the situation. My vision becomes clearer, and I am looking at the ground. As I struggle a little more, I see that I am in a headlock by a thick and hairy arm. The owner of the arm is laughing with his friend.

"You walked right into that one, little pal," grunts the one holding me. His friends snort in agreement.

How many of them are there? I wriggle about some more. Four or five, I assess. I'm screwed.

"Now, how about you tell us just who you are, and where you're going?" one of them says. His voice is gentle but I know he could snap any minute.

Who? Who can I say I am? Not myself, of course. A blood traitor is just as bad as being muggle born, to them. Oh, Jesus. Not Neville. He's friends with Harry. Who? Come on, Ron. Think faster.

"Oi! Name!" I am hit again.

"Um...I'm, er...Stan Shunpike!" I gasp. Where the hell did that come from?

"Stan Shunpike? I thought he was dead..." says my capturer's accomplice. The grip around my neck slackens a bit.

"How can you be sure? We weren't there..."

"Oh come on, Gary, the Potter twat shot him down, didn't he?"

"How do you know that, though, eh? Could'a bin anyone, that."

"I'm bloody telling you..."

"SHUT UP. Don't you start with me, you're not making this any effin' easier."

I still feel incredibly dizzy. I pray for some way to escape.

The two that were arguing begin to fight. Nice. I raise my eyebrows as two others stand close to them, egging them on. They are shouting insults and encouragements, punching the air with their fists. They're acting like ogres, and I almost roll my eyes.

I watch as they argue, sizing them up; deciding how fast they can run. They aren't taller than me, but quite a bit wider, their muscled arms as thick as my thigh. Would it be best to whip my wand out and turn, or slowly ease it from him pocket and creep away? I decide to go for the first option. I can be speedy. I can do this. They're obviously not the shiniest gobstones in the set, so I can get away with this. I know I can.

"Every bloody time! Every time we find someone, you feel the need to argue. It's stupid, you're wasting time and..."

This is my chance. They are incredibly loud now. The bloke holding me prisoner is distracted, I'll be able to elbow him in the stomach and get my wand and anything else useful. It's a long shot. Go for it, Ron.

I take a deep breath – and am almost sick from the reek coming from my capturer – and thrust my elbow backwards. He gasps, winded. I whip around and rip the two wands from his pocket. I hesitate for just a second, looking at the fight going on beside us. The one I've attacked looks up and opens his mouth to shout out, but I am already turning and thinking the words Shell Cottage over and over and over again, praying to God I will turn up at Bill's place...

I am shoved through a miniscule space. My chest is contricting, my ears exploding, I can't breathe, my head is spinning and my heart is thundering...

I gasp in the sea air, and I'm sure I've come to the right place...my heart lifts for hardly a second. A pain so real and excruciating that I feel like my fingertips have been chopped off flashes along the ends of my left hand. I've splinched myself. I gasp loudly and double over. I wrench my eyes open and see blood flowing from my hand to my arm. Looking up, I see the cottage, see Fleur's beautifully startled face blink back at me. Her mouth opens, forming Bill's name, shouting for him to help. I can only imagine what I look like.

I walk forward, stumbling a bit. Bill rushes outside to me. I am grateful that he does not ask questions, does not scold me, and does not panic. He escorts me inside and takes a look at my hand.

"Christ Almighty, Ron. You look like you've sliced your fingers off."

I wince as he touches the ends of my fingers.

"They're still there, don't worry," he says, attempting a smile. He looks worried. "I think it's just your nails. Let's get you cleaned up."

He points his wand at my fingers and says some spell that appears to do nothing.

"That'll stop the blood and help it heal faster. Fleur knows more than I do, I don't feel confident enough to fix you myself," he explains before I can ask. "You alright?"

"Yeah," I reply. I feel very awkward, sitting on his couch, dirtying it with my filthy jeans.

Fleur comes blustering in, muttering to herself in French. I assume I don't want to know what she is saying. Without any hints, she casts a spell on my hand. My fingers instantly go numb.

"Now, get upstairs and 'ave a shower, you are making everysing filthy!" She shoos me upstairs.

"You stink, by the way." Bill grinned at me.

--

After two days at Shell Cottage, Bill comes to me.

"Ron, I know you want to avoid this conversation, but it has to happen. I'm pretty damn certain that you would have said something by now if something serious had happened to Harry and Hermione." I wince as he says her name.

"They're fine. At least, I think. It's my fault. It's all my bloody fault," I whisper.

"What the hell _happened_, Ron? You come here, bleeding and filthy and it's obvious that...it's just, there's a look in your eyes. Something bad has happened, but surely you'd have told us if they were-"

"Bill, you don't have to get yourself worked up. We had a fight, I was pissed off, I left. I tried to find them. I failed. That's all there is to it," I say. I don't look at him.

I know he wants to ask me more, to find out exactly what happened, but he keeps his mouth shut. I'm glad. I am exhausted just thinking about it.

--

Christmas approaches, snow beginning to dust the floor outside. Bill and Fleur are becoming annoyingly happy.

I am not, as such, feeling any better here than I was when I was sleeping out in the freezing cold. I am cleaner, warmer and safer, sure, but the thick and heavy cloud of misery still weighs on my shoulders. I wish and hope they will somehow appear here. I pray they are safe. That is all I can ask.

Every day, I sit by the radio in the kitchen, waiting for some news about them. Surely, if Harry Potter himself was found, it would be broadcasted to everyone? I cling to this thought and convince myself they are secure and unthreatened.

I discover PotterWatch, a radio show that supplies information that all the other news sources don't. The show supports anyone opposing You-Know-Who, and announces the deaths caused by Voldemort's Death Eaters and Snatchers. Lee Jordan hosts it, but obviously he can't say his real name. But you don't go to school with someone for five years and not be able to recognise their voice. It's nice to hear the truth, but it's quite sad, too, really.

On Christmas Eve, I can't sleep. I am often hit with insomnia these days. I lie awake for hours and hours, catch a tiny bit of sleep, and wake up with the daybreak.

I get up quietly, and patter downstairs to the kitchen to watch the sunrise. I flick through the channels on the radio, trying to find some music. I settle for a slow, kind of depressing, song that I am not really listening to. I think it is about love. I try not to be reminded of Hermione.

I drift off into my own world, thinking about Bill and Fleur, what will become of them and their little home. I love Bill; I want him to be happy. I have my fingers crossed that he will stay safe; Fleur, too, of course. It's secluded here. They can survive. I wonder what will become of me. I am grateful for their hospitality, but I feel like I am going insane. This war is destroying the lives of everybody I have met.

A quiet, familiar, beautiful voice shocks me. It sounds like...but no. It can't be. Can it? I lean closer to the radio, trying to locate the source of the voice. There is just a guitar playing. I look up, out of the window. Nobody is there. It gets a little louder. I look down incredulously. It is coming out of my _pocket_. _Hermione's voice is coming out of my pocket._ What the hell?! I pull out the Deluminator Dumbledore left me. When I take it out, the voice disappears. I examine it. Nothing seems different. I click the little silver button on the top. The lights inside went out, but behind the window is a pulsing, bluish orb hovering in the air. This was it. Dumbledore had given me the way to get back to Harry and Hermione. A jolt of excitement runs through me.

I pack my stuff, I put on my rucksack, and left Bill a note. When I get outside, the little ball is floating in front of me; waiting for me. I walk towards it; it bobs away. I follow it down to the bottom of the garden, behind the shed. The blue light expands. When I breathe in, it drifts a little towards me. I hold my breath and wait. It keeps edging to my chest. Eventually, finally, it touches my jumper. It seeps through and I feel a warmth – almost a burning – by my heart. I knew what to do.

I apparate without thinking about a destination, trusting the aid send by Dumbledore to keep me safe and take me where I need to go. I end up on the side of a hill, covered in snow. I feel a sense of déjà vu as I stumble about, calling out for them. I could see nothing, hear nothing. After what feels like an hour or two, I give up shouting. I know they are here. I take out a sleeping bag I have borrowed from Bill, and lay on the ground, waiting.

I keep hoping Harry or Hermione or both will appear. They don't. Darkness creeps around me. I have missed them.

I am not disheartened. I click the Deluminator, and the orb leaves me. It hovers for a few seconds, and then snuggles back inside my chest. I disapparate again, and find myself in some woods. Again, I walk around, shouting for them. I begin to think I have missed them again, but as I round a corner I see a bizarre, brilliant white light. I blink several times and see that it is a patronus; a doe. My heart jumps into my throat and my brain freezes when I see what is following it. Harry. Harry is walking behind the patronus, a wand held up in front of him. He is probably using it to see by. I edge backwards out of the light.

He walks to a small pool across from where I am standing. I watch as he studies it. He murmurs a few things. Nothing happens. He seems to make a decision. I assume, as he begins to take his clothes off, that he is going to jump in. I can't imagine why. What is he _doing?_

He jumps into the pool and hisses in breath through his teeth. He treads water for a few seconds. I still cannot make sense of what or why he is doing.

The second he dives, the second I know something is wrong. I see him writhing in the water, as he splashes it all over the bank. He is drowning! I sprint into the water, and propel myself towards him. It is like being cut with a thousand knives, and so cold it feels like I am burning. I force my eyes open, and my head swims with the pain and cold. I see Harry, scrabbling at the chain constricting around his neck, and the sword of Gryfindor sinking to the bottom of the pool. I grab the sword first, and then wrap my arms around Harry. He is white as a sheet and his lips are blue. I swim the short distance to the earth. It as I pull him to safety that I realise how my body is reacting. I am as white as he is, my muscles are jerking around with cold, and my breath is coming in painful drags. I cut the chain of the necklace with the sword. Harry reaches up and traces the deep grooves in his neck.

"Are you _mental_?!" I pant.

He stands up. He looks at me. His eyes grow wide, and his breath comes in short gasps.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you take this off first?" I demand, holding up the necklace. He doesn't answer me. He sees his clothes, and pulls them on.

"It was y-you?" he finally said, once he had put about a million jumpers on. Can't say I blamed him; I was so cold all I wanted to do was drop to the floor, give up and curl into a ball. Instead, I answer him.

"Well, yeah," I say.

"Y-you cast that doe?"

"What? No, of course not!" wasn't that _his_ patronus? "I thought it was you doing it!"

"My Patronus is a stag."

"Oh, yeah. I thought it looked different. No antlers."

As he reaches down for the wand, I feel quite hopeful. We might be able to get back and warm up before he asks awkward questions.

"How come you're here?"

Obviously not, then.

"Well, I've – you know – I've come back. If –" my voice breaks. I clear my throat. "You know. If you still want me."

I want to see Hermione. I _need_ to see her. Let me come back with you. I've saved your life, I'm so sorry, take me back.

Unspoken words bubble in my throat.

I look down uncomfortably. The sword is still in my hands.

"Oh, yeah. I got it out," I say. I show him the sword, feeling stupid. "That's why you jumped in, right?"

"Yeah. But I don't understand. How did you get here? How did you find us?"

I explain to him what I'd been doing in the forest.

"But how did the sword get in that pool?" I ask.

"Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there."

We look at it, glinting in the wand light.

"You reckon this is the real one?" I wonder. We have had enough experience with fake treasure in the past.

"One way to find out isn't there?" he replies. He looks around a bit, and then sees whatever it is he is looking for. "Come here."

He leads the way to a rock under a tree. He held out his hand. I handed him the sword.

"No, you should do it."

What?!

"Me? Why?"

"You got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you. I'm going to open it, and you stab it. Straight away, okay? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me."

"How are you going to open it?" I ask, aghast.

"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue," he explains. I do not ask how he knows what to do.

I panic as he surveys it. I can't do this! How can he expect me to? I'm _scared_ to be so close to that thing as it is.

"No! No, don't open it! I'm serious!"

"Why not?" Harry looks irritated. "Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months – "

"I can't, Harry, I'm serious – you do it – "

"But why?"

"That thing's bad for me!" I back away from it automatically. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it make me think stuff, stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse, I can't explain it, and then I'd take it and I'd get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the effing thing back on again – I can't do it, Harry!"

I shake my head and stumble back some more.

"You can do it! You can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, just get rid of it, Ron."

He is begging me now. I have to do it.

"Tell me when," I croak.

"On three. One...Two...Three..." and then a horrible, twisted, hissing noise escapes his lips. I shudder. The locket opens. I am frozen, transfixed, staring at the scarlet eye blinds at us.

I hear him tell me to stab, and I raise the sword, shaking. Before I can plunge it into the locket, a chilling voice hissed from it.

"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

My heart stops.

"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is possible also..."

I feel sick and my legs turn to jelly. My head spins. I am vaguely aware of Harry's voice. I ignore it.

"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter..."

Yes, yes, I'm sorry, it's not my fault, I didn't demand to be born, let me go, set me free, set _her_ free, leave her to be with her daughter.

"Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend..."

Of course, it's always been the same. Who would want me when I was next to the famous Harry Potter? I am angry. How dare he steal her from me?

"Second best, always, eternally overshadowed..."

Why must I be a talentless wreck, good for nothing, pointless for everything, no special talents, nothing of anything?

He shouts at me to stab it again. I can't move.

And then, just to cut me deeper, Harry and Hermione blossom from the locket. I am so glad to see Hermione's beautiful face at first, but she looks evil and terrifying. I jump back and a strangled cry escapes my lips.

"Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence...we laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption – "

Kill me then, kill me and end this, I don't want to live like this, make it stop.

And then Hermione opens her lips and I pay attention, studying every line of her face.

"Presumtion!" she echoes Harry's words. "Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?"

What, indeed? I am useless. I should die.

"Ron, stab it, STAB IT!"

This voice stirs something within me, but I push it aside. The others are real, larger than life, I must listen.

"Your mother confessed," sneers Harry, "that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange..."

"Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him!" croons Hermione and they embrace. His arms snake around her and something inside me breaks. Her face reflects her infatuation, and the pain is worse than the cold of the pool, and my heart aches and my head hurts and I feel like collapsing. Everything doubles and their lips meet and they kiss and and and...

I raise the sword higher and something snaps within my, the anguish turned to anger. I shake and tremble and I want to kill.

"Do it, Ron!"

I look to the voice, and see Harry, really Harry, alone and scared and cold, not in the arms of my Hermione. I throw the sword down onto the origin of the ghostly Harry and Hermione, I crash the end down into the locket, and everything is gone and the world collapses and I collapse under it all...

I shake and cry and sob and choke on tears. My heart is rising up into my throat and I am going to be sick. I weep, like the weak good-for-nothing waste product that I am.

"After you left," Harry's low voice says, "she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone..."

He trails off. I wait.

"She's like my sister. I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."

I recover a little at his words. This is Harry, Harry my best friend since first year, not Harry Potter: The Chosen One. Just Harry. He is as good as my brother, and I need to trust him. I turn away and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I am not quite ready to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left. I know I was a – a – "

There is no word for it.

"You sort of made up for it tonight. Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life."

"That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was," I mumble. I'm useless, just like the locket told me.

"Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was. I've been telling you that for years," he says, smiling a little.

And without meaning to, we both step forward and hug. I grip his damp jumper, and I am glad we are friends.

We pull apart. I feel slightly embarrassed.

"And now," he says, looking around, "all we've got to do is find the tent again."

That, at least, should be kind of easy. At least, it seems easy compared to all the shit that had gone on in the past few weeks.

My heart lifts at the prospect of seeing Hermione. She will be mad, of course, but it will be worth it, even to just see her for a second.

I can't wait to tell her that I love her.

--

**A/N: Did you enjoy that? I hope you did. I think my italics and bolds and stuff are gone, because I don't have OpenOffice on my laptop.**


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